“He is brave to rashness. I believe him fully capable of marrying. In fact, Fontaine seems to have a _penchant_ for Mademoiselle Claire Duval, daughter of Duval the rich old brewer.” “There is a niece--Mademoiselle Delphine Duval--who has just gone to live with them,” said Madame Fleury, who liked to show her knowledge of the acquaintances of the two young men. “I had not heard of that. The truth is, since we pawned our evening clothes we have not seen anything of the Duvals. However, as Fontaine could not marry Claire until he paid his debts, and he could not pay his debts until he married Claire, the matter seems to have settled itself.” Madame Fleury assumed a striking attitude in her chair, and then began to speak, with an insinuating softness in every word and glance and motion: “You have told me much about you and your friend; now I will tell you something about myself, and it may result in--in--an arrangement mutually advantageous.” Her voice sank to a mere whisper. “As you know, I am a widow.” “Certainly,” replied Marsac. “I knew it the very first moment I saw you: you had such a cheerful air.” “I have every reason to look cheerful. The late Monsieur Fleury was nothing but a trouble to me, from the hour I married him until the day the news was brought me that his body had been found in the river.” “Gracious powers!” cried Marsac, in astonishment; “was not the late Monsieur Fleury an angel?” “No,” answered Madame Fleury; “and I don’t believe he is an angel now, either.” “Strange, strange!” murmured Marsac. “A departed husband not an angel! This is a phenomenon. Allow me to make a note of it;” and taking out a note-book, he gravely made a memorandum. “A husband, Monsieur Marsac, is very like a lobster salad. When it is good, it is very good, and when it is bad it is intolerable. Monsieur Fleury was very bad. At last he sank so low that he became janitor in a medical school. He was accused one day of stealing some valuable books and instruments, and soon after his body was found in the Seine. It is supposed he committed suicide, knowing himself to be guilty. I did not see the body, and tried to avoid all associations with the affair; but, do what I could, it became known that he had once been my husband. I find the name of a man so unpleasantly notorious very inconvenient to bear, and I should like to change it.” Marsac, after listening intently to this, buried his ears in his hands and appeared to be thinking profoundly for some minutes. “I should think, Madame,” he said, after this pause of reflection, “that could be accomplished. The authorities on application will permit you to change your name.” Something like contempt appeared in Madame Fleury’s dark eyes, and she responded coldly, “I should also like the protection which the name of some respectable man would give me.”